


Sing to me your prettiest song.

by KinugoshiDofu



Category: SHINee
Genre: AU, I mean written in English but they love Japanese, Japanese, M/M, arthead!Key
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 09:06:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8527210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KinugoshiDofu/pseuds/KinugoshiDofu
Summary: It happens as if by accident.Jonghyun is dating a girl named Se-kyung, who is in his business class and worked as a model. He believes he loved her and he believed he was happy, and every single thing that he kept hidden about himself he keeps suppressed deep down and it never comes out, never comes spilling.He studies hard, he rarely drinks and he entertains the thought of one day asking Se-kyung to marry him. He had rebelled as a younger teenager, had written songs and played in a band, had made out with boys behind the shed, but he could never forget the disappointment on his father’s face and these days his only goal is to do him proud.Except then he meets Kim Kibum. And his father always did tell him the devil would be tempting.





	1. When your hand moves - skies sing

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I feel like I’ve put a lot of myself in here, and I’m really afraid that I’ll never finish it because the aspect of my life that has spurred this thing into action and held it alive has broken.  
> I don’t know where it’s going now, so we’ll see when we get there. Ikō!  
> I don’t know what to say anymore.  
> I loved you enough to make my OTP about you.  
> IMPORTANT: “arthead” is not supposed to really be an insult. My friend and I use it to describe art majors, and we use it in a positive way (since I study a language at uni, I’m an arts major myself^^) but here it’s used as an insult, something to mark the “outcasts”. Why am I even explaining this.  
> Also, the Japanese has translations, and I wrote in romaji because it wouldn’t be fair to use kanji and hiragana to those who can’t read that. So romaji and translations ^^ for people who speak Japanese or are learning Japanese: if you have a question or a comment about the Japanese used, let me know.  
> I’m going to apologise beforehand for my awkward translations of “yo”, because it’s an ending particle to kind of stress or accentuate what you’ve just said, and therefore doesn’t have a real translation, so when translating it I just go with the flow and do whatever I need to, to make the English sound natural ^^

It happens as if by accident.

Jonghyun is dating a girl named Se-kyung, who is in his business class and worked as a model. He believes he loved her and he believed he was happy, and every single thing that he kept hidden about himself he keeps suppressed deep down and it never comes out, never comes spilling.

He studies hard, he rarely drinks and he entertains the thought of one day asking Se-kyung to marry him. He had rebelled as a younger teenager, had written songs and played in a band, had made out with boys behind the shed, but he could never forget the disappointment on his father’s face and these days his only goal is to do him proud.

Se-kyung is leaving for Japan on an important modelling job in a couple of months and embarrassed about not speaking a word Japanese – she’s worried she’ll make a fool out of herself, complains about too many classes and not enough time.

Jonghyun decides to take Japanese tutoring classes – partly out of his own curiosity but mostly so he in turn can teach Se-kyung – and he asks around because university life and dorm-costs are expensive enough already and he thinks he loves Se-kyung but is not prepared to spend his father’s money on a private tutor.

He has a friend who has a friend whose niece knows a guy at the same university, who speaks fluent Japanese. He gets warned by three different people – two of which he doesn’t even know very well – that _“Kim Kibum is off”_ and he gets the guy’s me2day page and finds out that he’s an arts major, which is enough said.

Because _arts majors_ belong to his previous life.

It’s kind of funny how karma works.

He puts up a flyer with his name and contacts and then one day he’s leaving a math seminar and his friend elbows him in his side, _“you called him up?”_

For a moment he doesn’t think anything of it until he notices that in the sea of properly clothed black-grey-blue students there is one figure standing out like bright paint splashed across a blank canvas.

Kim Kibum is blonde with jeans shorts, suspenders and a too loose tank top with a curved piece of metal with yellow spikes serving as make-shift necklace and differently coloured bracelets around his ankle and wrist.

They clink together when he stretches out his hand to shake Jonghyun’s.

It’s like the sound blinds him, and all he can see is fireworks behind his eyelids.

Kibum tells him about how he read Jonghyun’s flyer and how he skipped a sketch class so he could contact him because his phone needs charging but he can’t find his charger and he says he’ll tutor Jonghyun for free in return for a bath.

Jonghyun manages to very impressively choke on thin air.

He gets another elbow in his side.

“ _A bath_?”

When Kibum smiles, all his teeth shimmer white between his plump pink lips.

“My room only has a shower,” he shrugs like it’s a very ordinary question, asking about the situation of one’s bathroom within two minutes of initially meeting, “if yours has a bath and you let me use it once a week, I’ll tutor you until your Japanese becomes saikō!” (“Awesome!”)

His voice is as colourful as his bracelets.

Jonghyun has doubts and objections and he feels an _urge_ , repressed and should-be gone.

“How do I know you actually speak Japanese?”

Kibum laughs.

“Ofuro yori yaru hō ga suki da kedo, nonke mitai na,” he stretches the last syllable and Jonghyun has no idea what he’s just said but he buys it. (“I’d prefer fucking over a bath, but you look straight.”)

They pinky-promise on the deal, and Jonghyun ignores the disapproving stare of his friend as he waves Kibum off. The boy’s suspenders sway over his ass as he walks, and Jonghyun tries really hard not to notice how much junk is in that trunk but in reality he’s measured the blonde from top to toe without blinking an eye.

He finds out relatively quickly that Kibum prefers to be called _Key_ – even though he never tells Jonghyun – and that he lives only a block away from Jonghyun. He drinks black coffee and usually sleeps in. He loves getting pierced, but loves watching other people get pierced even more.

Kibum is _free_ , in a way Jonghyun has only ever _wished_ he could be.

At first, they just hang out once a week, and it’s all pretty tightly arranged for a man with a mind as disarray as the blonde’s. They work through _hiragana_ relatively easily, because Kibum refuses to teach Jonghyun Japanese using hangul – he says that to know a language, people should at least take the trouble to first learn the scripture, the rest will follow much more smoothly.

For days Jonghyun is copying Kibum’s scribbled syllables. He goes “a” “i” “u” “e” “o” then “ka” “ki” “ku” “ke” “ko”, writing in the margins of his notes and lifting his finger in the air to the invisible curves.

A week passes and he doesn’t see or hear Kibum. But then the boy is knocking on his door with a sketchpad tucked under his arm and wearing a jumpsuit and nothing underneath, bearing too much skin and too much chest.

“Hey!” the boy smiles broadly like he didn’t just burst in unannounced during Jonghyun’s dinner, “write my name and nutella.”

He sits across from Jonghyun’s hot cup of instant ramen, setting his sketchbook aside and clinking his bracelets together as he runs a hand through his unkempt blonde hair, and then the shorter, almost-shaved, new sides. He’d gone slightly crew cut since the last time Jonghyun had seen him, and it was endearing how he fiddled with it – as if he himself was just getting accustomed to it.

“What is nutella?” Jonghyun searches in his desk-drawer for his notes from last week’s session, and then pushes his dinner aside so he could watch Kibum’s eyes flit around the room, taking in the food on the table and the cookies on the counter.

“A brand of chocolate paste with hazelnuts,” Kibum licks his lips and they lock eyes, “well?”

“Why do you even know that?” Jonghyun doubts only for a second, but then writes down a little awkwardly with his black ball-pen – a pen he used to use for writing his lyrics, one he’d forgotten all about until he had rummaged around his closet to find suitable material to report his extra-credential Japanese notes in and had found the notebook and pen that had taken up most of his mind all through his high school career – _Ki-bu-n_.

“My Japanese ex-boyfriend was obsessed with that stuff,” Kibum looks over at his crocked handwriting, judging obviously, “ever since he went to Belgium on a study trip. Nu-te-lla.”

Jonghyun wonders if Kibum was purposely trying to rouse a reaction from him – it might have worked too, if not every single one of his friends had already warned him for that exact aspect of the boy’s personality.

It was kind of ironic, Jonghyun thought as he worked to write a wobbly “nu”, how completely opposite his friends were of what he used to be.

 _Nu-te-_ small _tsu-ra._

Kibum takes the paper as soon as Jonghyun lifts his pen, and after one squinted glance, he nods approvingly.

He has to read through a bunch of sentences and does so a little clumsily.

“Ki-nō-a-na-ta-ni-tsu-i-te-no-yu-me-o-mita” and “e-cchi-su-ru-to-shi-ta-ra-ha-da-ha-na-n-no-a-ji-da-rō” and he doesn’t know what any of it means but Kibum sits there and nods, pleased with his skills. (“I dreamt about you yesterday” and “if we had sex, what flavour would your skin be?”)

They go through basic greetings and the very beginning of basic polite grammatical structures. He gets papers filled with Kibum’s notes, which serve as a make-shift text-book to all the things he’s trying to process.

One night he ends up taking Kibum out for dinner just because he can.

They form a sort of lanky friendship that doesn’t have much base at first, other than that Kibum seems to be hungry a lot and Jonghyun secretly wants to bed him. In the first weeks of tutoring Kibum doesn’t ask him for a bath, but instead they play video-games together, or listen to music, and if it weren’t for the insistent texts Kibum receives when he actually manages to _charge_ his phone, Jonghyun would have thought maybe the boy was just lonely.

But then his phone will go off and Kibum has to pause the game to have hushed conversations in the living room, or he leaves altogether, waving cheerfully and promising to check Jonghyun’s revision test as soon as possible, calling a “mata ne Jjyongi!” over his shoulder as he descends the stairs. (“See you later!”)

It isn’t until after a month of the initial first lesson that Kibum invokes on his pay.

Jonghyun is getting ready for bed early on a Friday night, because he has a breakfast-date with Se-kyung in the morning and the last time he overslept he didn’t get to live it down for over two months.

He is forced to open the door for an insistently pounding-on-the-wood-like-he-was-gonna-get-some blonde just as he was doing the last buttons on his pyjama. He hadn’t realised how incredibly _preppy_ going to bed at ten was until the figure of Kibum was revealed as the door swung open, his own face scrunched in aggravation as opposed to Kibum’s painted with amusement.

He was wearing waist-high tight blue jeans with a loose t-shirt tucked in and something that kind of looked like an army jacket on top. Jonghyun didn’t _do_ fashion, but it took an idiot not to notice that Kibum was out for a party.

His slender wrist was decorated with golden bracelets and his necklace was made out of a collection of loops in different sizes, woven together.

His fringe also appeared to be hidden in… was that _aluminium foil_? Even for Kibum that seemed to be a slightly off choice in lieu of a hat, and his aggravation turns to befuddlement when he thinks about how Kibum went out with that _thing_ stuck in his hair.

“I’m here for my paycheck,” Kibum says with a broad smile, a small bag tucked under his arm, “does your bath have a sprinkler?”

Jonghyun lets him in but can’t help but stand there, a little dumbstruck, before shaking his head still baffled.

“A cup will do fine as well,” Kibum shrugs, “in there?”

He lets himself into the bathroom and Jonghyun follows curiously, grabbing his mug off the table. Kibum eyes it a little sceptically, but when there are no objections even as he fills it with water, he just shrugs again.

He loses his jacket to reveal a v-cut in the back of his previously normal-seeming t-shirt. Jonghyun can almost count the bumps of his spine when he moves this way or that but tears away from the sight.

Kibum struggles with the foil on his fringe, and when the packaging comes off there is pink paint in the blonde.

He uses the cup to diligently wash the excess paint out, hanging over the side of the tub with his hips swinging a little hypnotising as he balances his weight. He stumbles around, in the same gracious way that he seems to do everything else.

“I decided to dye my hair like twenty minutes ago and then realised my shower-head doesn’t move,” Kibum grins crookedly over his shoulder at Jonghyun, watching him watching him, “couldn’t get my clothes dirty.”

“Daijyōbu,” Jonghyun answers a little clumsily, as if to show him _look what I’ve picked up_ and _you’ve earned it_ , “I take my pinky promises very seriously.”(“It’s okay”)

Kibum laughs loudly, out-going and shrill and it’s the prettiest sound Jonghyun has ever heard.

He watches as the pink washes out and helps with rubbing in some shampoo afterwards.

“I’m hanging out with my friends tonight,” Kibum states the obvious in a too-airy tone, as if to defy what will come next, “you wanna come?”

Jonghyun _tries_ really hard to think of reasons why he wouldn’t want to go, like _I don’t know any of your friends_ or _I was just going to bed_ or _if I show up even a minute late for breakfast tomorrow Se-kyung might have a seizure_ but he can’t find any, because in all damn honesty, he wants to say _yes_ , with all his heart. Except that he doesn’t.

“I can’t,” he mumbles out and he notices a growing tenseness in Kibum immediately.

“Why do you hate art heads?” the blonde-pink frowns under his wet fringe, and not-so-gently shakes off Jonghyun’s hand as he paces his fingers through the slightly coloured locks.

“I don’t hate art heads,” Jonghyun corrects, “I hate that I’m not one.”

It’s silent for a really long time. And silent isn’t usually very awkward for Jonghyun, because Kibum is always too loud or too quiet, but for some reason, _this_ , is awkward.

“Fair enough,” Kibum eventually takes Jonghyun’s hand in his own and he squeezes it, “towel?”

Jonghyun makes sure he doesn’t have to move an inch to take the nearest towel from the rack by the sink – just so he can hold onto the blonde’s hand a little longer. He rubs it over Kibum’s wary head and makes him laugh out loud again.

“We’re not all dope-heads you know,” Kibum manages to strangle out as his face peaks out from under the white linen – his lips bitten pink.

“Just you?” Jonghyun teases, and Kibum scoffs.

“Not even me!” the hand leaves his to rub more insistently at his wet hair, “I have a drink, I place an awkward dance, and after that it’s just hanging out in someone’s flat until morn’.”

It does sound innocent enough.

Somehow Jonghyun doubts that that’s all that’s to it.

He doesn’t question the other boy though. He just watches as Kibum lines his eyes with black kohl, hidden in the little black bag that served as purse and make-up kit all in one, and he tries not to think about the fact that the slanty corners of Kibum’s eyes are so pretty it _hurts_ not to touch them and just smiles as the pink hairs dance with the blonde and then goes to bed thinking of Kibum.

\--

**AN: I realised I haven’t mentioned this, so sorry for the confusion! In Japanese, an “o” sound is lengthened by a “u” in hiragana (There’s exceptions though, like “ookii”). You don’t pronounce it “ou” but just, lengthen the sound of your “o” sound. In katakana, the double vowel gets a stripe to accentuate the longer sound, so ou becomes o** **ー** **.**

**As a result of the use of the “u” to prolong a vowel, I used to pronounce words completely wrong before studying Japanese. I literally said “aibou” instead of “aibo--”. The sounds doesn’t turn into “oo” however, like in “book”, but just a short “o” like in not, but then longer. (It kind of hard to explain.)**

**To avoid any confusion (resulting in an “oo” sound instead of an “o-“ sound) I tend to use the katakana stripe to accentuate a double vowel in romaji, and because the stripe in word ( this one –) is not as long as the katakana stripe (this one** **ー** **) I use two (--).**

**Also, sometimes, when talking to friends or something you can use more to accentuate, like eg “aitaina---“ which accentuates the “na” and accentuates that “I _really_ miss you!”**

**(I would like to point out here that to be correct the “ha” after “hada” should be read as “wa”, but since they haven’t covered grammaticism and Jonghyun doesn’t know of Japanese particles yet, he reads it as a “ha”.)**


	2. When your hand sings - my heart cries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s five a.m. and it’s hot. Jonghyun stumbles out of bed in just his briefs and he doesn’t feel too embarrassed until the person knocking ever-so-patiently turns out to be Kibum – and he feels like he should have known, and should have taken actions accordingly.
> 
> Jonghyun increasingly starts to believe that Kibum’s clothing should be outlawed in all the world because he is getting hard just watching him.

The next time Kibum demands payment is a month later. Jonghyun has been making good progress in life and Japanese but not-so-good progress when it comes to repressing his desires and he finds himself cancelling dates on account of being sick just to go watch some Polish artsy movie he doesn’t really like with Kibum in a downtown theatre.

It’s five a.m. and it’s hot. Jonghyun stumbles out of bed in just his briefs and he doesn’t feel too embarrassed until the person knocking ever-so-patiently turns out to be Kibum – and he feels like he should have known, and should have taken actions accordingly.

Jonghyun increasingly starts to believe that Kibum’s clothing should be outlawed in all the world because he is getting _hard_ just watching him.

His top is black and glittery, falling down his shoulders with puffed out sleeves to his elbows and a leather make-shift waistcoat around it, tied up with black laces so that his waistline looks impossibly tiny.

His ass is _huge_ in his black pants, more laces tying over his slender legs and low on his hips so that the difference between tiny waist and booty becomes more prominent. He’s not wearing shoes, and his ankle bracelet peaks out from underneath black fabric, his short pink socks decorated with Hello Kitty faces.

The worst part is probably his mouth – because it’s five a.m. and he’s probably been out all night but his lips are pink and glossy and _beautiful_ and perky.

“Asaman daisukiiii,” Kibum squeals excitedly when he’s let into the room, no questions asked. Jonghyun’s tired mind tries to process what was just said, but his knowledge is faulty, and he doesn’t register anything beyond Kibum apparently having stated one of his likes, “ofuro, hairō!”

(“I love morning sex” and “let’s take a bath!”)

Despite only speaking polite, he gets the last line and then shuffles into the bathroom to draw the bath.

“Chotto yotteru,” Kibum giggles, and Jonghyun doesn’t need a translation for that one, “chotto dake da kedo… ua-- sutekina shiri da na!” (“I’m a little drunk” and “only a little though… wauw, your behind is perfect!”)

Jonghyun frowns, “did you just say something about my ass?”

Kibum nods proudly, and then starts shedding his clothes without restraint. Jonghyun is too tired, too dazed to fight himself anymore. He wants to be _happy_.

The blonde is already butt-naked by the time Jonghyun has made his mind up and he’s _beautiful_. It’s not something he thinks very often, but Kibum has a lot of _skin_ and all of it is very attractive. And he has a little freckle on his hip like Jonghyun does on his collarbone and Jonghyun has never seen him so _naked_ but so oshare. (Stylish)

There’s this big earring hanging from one of his piercings, with a purple feather and a brown earthy pearl and they sway around and catch Jonghyun’s eye. His hips are really pale and kind of broad and there’s a dent in his lower back where it runs into his ass and his thighs are strong. His ankle is tiny and decorated and hypnotic when he lifts his body and steps into the tub.

“Ofuro, koishikatta!” Kibum sings when he steps into the hot-water, the bath only filled half-way but the boy too impatient. He closes his eyes in bliss and seems to forget Jonghyun is even there, sighing wistfully as he sits down, “saikō, saikō yo.”

(“Bath, I missed you!” and “awesome, this is awesome!”)

The water sloshes lazily, and Kibum outstretches an arm, making grabby hands at Jonghyun – eyes still closed. Jonghyun realises he’s probably lost now, because he takes the hand and then Kibum is pulling him close.

“Shinpai shinaide—“ Kibum sing-songs. (“Don’t worry”)

He sits awkwardly next to the tub so that Kibum can prop his chin up on Jonghyun’s shoulder, a pale finger running around the mould on his collarbone.

“Kawaisugiru,” Kibum coos softly – but when their eyes meet he’s shining remarkably bright, “you know, we could fuck in Japanese too,” he speaks in a humming tone, like the buzzing of the air with static when there’s thunder, like the coming of a train, like _gorgeous_ , “I know how to. It could be like a reward for acing your test,” his hand presses flat above Jonghyun’s heart and it’s not fair, can Kibum tell he’s making it run double-time? “I bet we would fuck pretty, _perfect_ , isshyo ni. Anata dake hoshii yo.” (“too cute” and “together. I really only want you”)

His father always did tell him the devil would be tempting.

His eyes are hooded, nearly all the way slanted, like a fox’s and Jonghyun isn’t resisting anymore.

They’re kissing with sparkles behind their eyes.

It’s not really like a dream because Kibum feels really _real_ , but it is kind of like a blur. It’s a combination of strung-together Japanese words and a lot of wet skin.

Jonghyun’s never really had _language_ sex, he guesses. Se-kyung isn’t very vocal before or during sex, only after, and Jonghyun himself rarely ever makes a noise.

Having sex with Kibum is like willingly exploding his eardrums or something. He’s so _loud_.

So responsive to the touch and so _nice_ all over his body.

He’s used to being _in control_ during sex, but nothing with Kibum is about his own control, really. It’s all just about this blonde that has him wrapped all around his finger.

“ _Nuide_ ,” he demands and then, “irete, onega--i,” and he begs and whimpers too, voice low and lazy with want, “ _motto, motto,_ ” he mewls. (“Undress” and “put it in, _please_ ” and “more, more”)

The water swishes around them with their broken thrusts and Jonghyun’s never been with a guy and he thinks he doesn’t ever want to be with a guy again if that guy isn’t Kibum because he’s _spoiled_ now, with his lips on a marble neck and nails digging into his ass, leaving angry crescents as he fucks Kibum into the stone tub.

“Jyōzu da ne,” Kibum praises, looks for Jonghyun’s lips and finds them in a searing kiss, “ _Jjyongi_ , kimochi _ii_!”

(“You’re good aren’t you?” and “Jjyongi, it feels so good”)

He comes right then, and _hard_.

Kibum pants and moans and tenses around Jonghyun as he’s painted white from the inside mewling hoarsely, then pouts, but he doesn’t complain and reaches up for more kisses. Jonghyun fists his heat and yanks, once, _twice_ , presses open-mouthed kisses to the parted lips.

“…iku, … _iku,_ ” Kibum mewls against Jonghyun’s mouth and then comes, white mixing with the soiled water.

They fuck four times that morning and Jonghyun is beyond exhausted but he demands they take it to the bed for one last round and then they just kind of pass out, entangled and sweaty and so _tired_.

His mind doesn’t go crazy. He’s just too drained to feel guilty.

When he wakes up Kibum is straddling him, completely naked and eating a banana Jonghyun couldn’t remember he owned. He’s being stared down and not even in a very attractive manner – Kibum’s hair is matted, the pink sticking to his forehead, his lips dark-red and wet, his earring glittering in the light of the midday sun. His bracelets tinker softly as he moves, and his body is relaxed atop Jonghyun’s, dirty and teeth-marked all over – but his stare is calculating, if not slightly worried-looking.

“I seduced you,” Kibum states as soon as Jonghyun reaches out to touch his cheek – his hand freezes in mid-air, “gomen nasai.” (“I’m sorry”)

Jonghyun can sense the hidden undertone there, and decides the best medication to an unhappy Kibum, is a dazzling smile. He grins broad enough to show off all his teeth, and immediately he can see the blonde deflate slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching with his suppressed smile.

“I wasn’t complaining.”

“You have a girlfriend,” Kibum takes another bite of his banana, the motion not very sexual at all but Jonghyun feels it in his groin.

He thinks about that for a moment, too. He thinks about Se-kyung and his studies and his father. Kibum lets him, sits back and finishes the banana while Jonghyun moulds it over. He’s never been very good at anything – he’s not really any good at all. All he’s good at now is sucking up to his father and studying. He’s become boring and bland – he’s nowhere near as awesome as Kibum is. Not that saikō at all. (awesome)

With a soft sigh he lifts himself up on his elbows, drawing the blonde’s attention.

“You wouldn’t want me as your boyfriend,” he’s not even very ashamed about admitting it – because it’s probably the truest thing he’s said in the last four years.

Kibum looks at him carefully.

He tosses the banana peel backward without looking at it.

“Fair enough,” he decides, and Jonghyun’s fingers finally manage to slide over the soft shoulder, up to the tender cheek.

Kibum leans into the kiss, and Jonghyun is _happy_.

“Let’s play video games,” he says.

“Yaritai yo!” Jonghyun doesn’t know what it means but with the way Kibum is lowering himself into his embrace, canting his hips like _so_ , he doesn’t need any picture drawn to understand. (“I want to fuck instead!”)

He doesn’t think about the consequences or telling his father or Se-kyung. He thinks about hearing Kibum pant his name in heavily accented tone, and it’s all there is to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kind of in love with this and them and everything and that's my life now. I'm itching to continue this.


	3. When your fingers flutter by

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things don’t change in a way that alarms Jonghyun. They spend a lot of free time together, be it by tutoring or fucking or playing video-games or eating, and it’s all good.
> 
> Kibum comes to take a bath at the oddest hours of the night even if he had been over only hours before to have dinner together. He helps Kibum dye an extra colour into his fringe, green this time, and gets to listen to the boy prattle on, “midori to pinku, ni au kana—“ and gets to be the first to see the green and pink locks stick to the boys forehead as he moans with absolute conviction: “yamenaide, ya-me-nai-de--!”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to say – without really saying it – that Donghae really likes giving head and being cum on. Because a fish has that round o mouth, right ? In case you don’t get it, remember this AN and get it, onega—i!

Things don’t change in a way that alarms Jonghyun. They spend a lot of free time together, be it by tutoring or fucking or playing video-games or eating, and it’s all good.

Kibum comes to take a bath at the oddest hours of the night even if he had been over only hours before to have dinner together. He helps Kibum dye an extra colour into his fringe, green this time, and gets to listen to the boy prattle on, “midori to pinku, ni au kana—“ and gets to be the first to see the green and pink locks stick to the boys forehead as he moans with absolute conviction: “yamenaide, _ya-me-nai-de--_!”. (“green and pink, it’ll match, won’t it?” “don’t stop, _don’t stop_!”)

Se-kyung isn’t suspicious because she knows he’s gotten a new best friend lately and his father doesn’t complain because he’s still studying his ass off.

It feels like dating except that they’re _not_. Jonghyun takes Kibum for pancakes and lets him have the last one and he lets him drink the last bit of his soda too and when the boys eyes turn big and shiny at the sight of a 2000 won bracelet sold by one of the old men with street carts he gets him that too, and he doesn’t think about it twice.

Kibum talks to him in Japanese and he points at windows and says “mado” and points at Jonghyun and says “mote mote” and winks rather lewdly so that they end up making out in a public bathroom. It’s very physical and kind of intellectual because they’re getting to more difficult grammatical constructions and Key helps him nail every single new-taught expression. (“window” and “sexy/popular”)

It isn’t until he starts to realise that it’s bothering him that Kibum is leaving for mysterious phone-calls or not in his bed every morning after that he has a little panic attack and decides he needs to re-assert his decisions.

Because he’d made a decision to sleep with Kibum on grounds that it would be _no big deal_. He would be getting his degree and marrying Se-kyung. Ii keikaku datta yo. (It had been a good plan!)

When Se-kyung comes back from Japan and shows her gratitude for his help with road-head and all Jonghyun can think about is _Kibum_ ’s breath on his cock and _Kibum’s_ tinkling bracelets when their fingers entwine, he decides to put his feelings through a series of tests.

They go to the noraebang together and he watches as Kibum does this weird Japanese rapping thing and he’s just really bewitched by it – because Kibum is not the best rapper but he does it with conviction and a little tipsy hip-swaying and his awkwardness is endearing.

They fuck in the noraebang too because it’s cheap and there’s no cameras and Kibum is unzipping his pants and riding Jonghyun before he can comprehend it – and he says it too, “abunai kedo, _atsui_!” in this tone that is just a really horny whimper. How can Jonghyun resist _that_? (“Even though I know it’s dangerous, _I’m so hot/_ here: _horny_!”)

Every time they meet Kibum is taking pictures because he’s working on some kind of photo-thing at school and he’s always fussing about the angles and sticking his tongue down Jonghyun’s throat when the boy complains. He hates being caught on camera – but when Kibum gives him the Polaroid of their bare entangled legs, he thinks he can reconsider.

He becomes a total sucker for it when Kibum starts forgetting some of the small white squares – one has Kibum’s bracelet and Jonghyun’s lips, another has Kibum’s decorated ankles in between soapy water, another Kibum’s pink, shiny hole sucking around Jonghyun’s hard heat – and Jonghyun hides them even as the blonde-pink-green frets about their whereabouts and turns the flat upside down because “ _ittai dou iu koto?! Suteki no datta no ni!_ ” because sometimes Jonghyun feels like he gets to be yabai. (“What the fuck is this?! Those were perfect!” and “evil/risky” in a teasing way.)

It also doesn’t help that Kibum loosing Polaroids ends up with taking more, and Jonghyun slowly falls in love with every strip the pink camera produces at the agile, slender hands of his _sensei_. (teacher.)

He takes Kibum to the beach and treats him to a fancy dinner and even though it’s nothing they haven’t done before, it feels different. He tries holding Kibum’s hand in public. Saikou da. All he ever thinks about is the music those bracelets make. (It’s awesome.)

“Aokan, daisuki,” Kibum sighs happily after they’ve had sex behind the bushes on a deserted piece of beach and there’s sand _everywhere_ and it’s so uncomfortable but Jonghyun doesn’t care because Kibum’s head is on his chest and his earring blinks magically. The blonde nuzzles deeper into his chest, buries his face in Jonghyun’s armpit and has him strengthen his hold, “mmmm, ii niyoi,” he hums.

(“I love outdoor sex” “mmm, smells good”)

When they’re driving back Key pulls up his legs and outstretches them into Jonghyun’s lap while he’s steering, and the trinkets on his ankle bracelet blind Jonghyun for a moment. He might be in real big trouble, if the ba-thump-thump of his heart was any indication.

He decides to meet Donghae – Donghae is the only friend he has from his younger years, because they had been young kids together and they would go above and beyond for each other. He also knew that keeping in touch with Donghae wouldn’t influence his current life-style negatively, because Donghae had never been as _astray_ as his other friends and himself had been.

He wasn’t a goody-two-shoes either though, which is why their relationship was handled with the utmost care.

They have lunch in the cafeteria of the arts department, and Jonghyun talks about how he’s learning Japanese and how he thought he liked Se-kyung but now this guy comes by to take a bath every now and then and most of the time it ends in sex and another bath.

Donghae isn’t very judgemental about it either, because they’re best friends and even though he scolds a bit, he’s not one to be too prissy about such subjects. It’s not really a possibility either, because how many times has Jonghyun found Donghae in precarious position with his boyfriend? He’s hardly one with right to be judgemental about any sort of _sexual tendencies_ , considering a lot of his kinks seem to revolve around pretending to be a fish and holding his lips accordingly only to get soiled all over.

 _“He fucks in Japanese_ ,” Jonghyun says, _“I find it oddly enticing_.”

They don’t really eat because they’re too busy with the word vomit and then suddenly someone calls his name and the voice is excited and accented and he thinks he might die, “ _Jjyongi!_ ” possibly out of happiness, too.

Kibum is wearing a really pretty hair-band and the pink and green is outlined with hellish blue that Jonghyun helped wash out the other day. He’s wearing a really _dirty_ jeans playsuit and he can’t help but wonder what exactly Kibum does with that paint, roll around in it? He has a blue jacket above it with big colourful buttons littering the collar. The shirt he wears under his playsuit is cut out deep up front and he can see the hickeys he left on that pale skin peak out from under the shorts and on the collar bone.

His colourful bands move around on his wrist when he waves.

“What’re you doing _here_?” he comes over to say hi and Donghae’s eyes flit from Kibum to Jonghyun to Kibum again, kind of like _panic_.

Before Jonghyun can answer, something _catastrophic_ happens.

It starts out innocent enough with some guy calling, “ _Key_! We’re over here!”

But then the guy comes over and Jonghyun thinks maybe he’s died or maybe he’s travelled back in time because he’s had those lips on his own and those eyes had been crying last time he’d seen them, boy reduced to blubbering pulp when Jonghyun told him they could no longer be friends.

Jiyong’s hair is blue-and-pink and Jonghyun knows he should be worried because shit could be going _down_ , but he only wonders if Jiyong and Kibum share hair-dye and then he wonders if Jiyong is doing good because sometimes he misses his old friend, more than he ever admits.

He’s wearing a loose pink tank top as dirty as Kibum with jeans shorts and socks that reach above his knee and pinned boots. Jonghyun finds it ironic that his former and current weaknesses appear to be close – but mostly it just _hurts_.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Jiyong’s voice is all venom, and granted, he kind of deserves that too.

“Jjyongi is your friend?” Kibum’s head tips to the side cutely and he eyes the blue-pink-head, “this is the bath-dude I’ve been telling you about!”

Jiyong doesn’t look at him, he looks at Kibum, bites his lip.

“We’re not _friends,_ ” Jiyong spits, shudders and then growls, “just strangers with memories.”

Kibum’s ever-present brightness seems to burn out. He eyes Jonghyun in a way that speaks of no good. His hand shoots to Jiyong’s shoulder like he knows the boy is about to have a nervous-breakdown.

Jonghyun has heard a lot of shit about Kibum, because that’s what happens when an economist becomes friends with an arthead – everybody goes to extreme lengths to tell him why he _shouldn’t_ – but he knows all drama-queen rumours _must_ be lies when Kibum is all cool about the entire ordeal.

“Where’s Seunghyun?” he says in a very calm and collected voice Jonghyun has never heard him use before, “Go to Seunghy, I’ll be right over, okay Ji?”

Jiyong nods. He doesn’t make eye-contact, but leans into Kibum for a moment, bumps his shoulder into the other boy’s chest and leaves with a lazy, heartless smile.

“So,” when Kibum turns their way, he has this kind of _complicated_ look in his eyes, looking at Donghae, “if you don’t hang out with art heads, what does that make him?”

He nods his chin in Donghae’s direction in a way that leaves no room for doubt. Jonghyun’s not sure what to say to that.

Donghae shrugs.

“I have a boyfriend,” and he uses that tone that indicates he wishes he could go on and on about how awesome Hyukjae is, making it big and working hard to run his own dance academy.

“So does Jiyong,” Kibum frowns – and Jonghyun thinks, should this hurt?

Because he used to think maybe Jiyong was what a soul-mate is. They spent days just sitting around and writing lyrics together. He doesn’t think he was ever really in love with Jiyong, not _really_ , but he liked the way Jiyong’s mind entangled itself and then kind of spit out, to create the most beautiful compilation of words ever known to man. He used to _want_ , that skill. He used to crave it.

Now he wants to listen to Kibum’s Japanese as he moves his hands above his head, bracelets meeting and clashing with his words, _enticing_.

He used to kiss Jiyong on the mouth too, in the way that grown-ups do, with tongue and all that. And he used to like it.

But he always knew they weren’t made for each other, because Jiyong likes another boy – a chubby boy that is always being bullied and can’t be soothed by anything but Jiyong’s muttered songs – and he’s just faking it until he finds some place where he can make it.

“He didn’t used to,” Donghae shrugs.

Kibum looks him straight in the eye and now it’s Kibum’s mind that endears Jonghyun, Kibum’s awkward crocked mind. His train-of-thought and his slurred rhymes.

Only that now, it’s connecting in all the wrong ways, and Jonghyun can see it happen – when the clatter of Kibum’s bracelets goes still, indicating the rigid state of his entire body, that’s when Jonghyun knows.

“Fair enough,” Kibum says.

He doesn’t leave with a smile or a wave or a kiss. He just kind of stands there and then turns around rather abruptly.

Donghae asks him if he even knows why Kibum speaks such fluent Japanese. When Jonghyun tells him Kibum’s had a Japanese boyfriend, Donghae just rolls his eyes.

There’s stories, and a whole lot of them. Kibum is _notorious_ , to say the least. He followed his boyfriend to Japan and got dumped for cheating. He was hired by a rich Japanese gentleman to keep him company. He went to an all-boys-school for a year and gave head in exchange for candy.

He became translator for the Yakuza and Korean minorities.

He had shagged every Japanese boy within a ten mile radius of Tokyo.

He thought Japanese cock was too small so he came back.

He gave teachers head in return for good grades.

He got kicked out of home because he fucked his step-dad and they eloped to Japan.

He gambled away all his yen and prostituted himself to pay his ticket back.

The list was _endless_.

Jonghyun isn’t too sure how he should feel about a guy who has a bad rep, even amongst his fellow art heads.

He decides to not think about it too much, until he’s talked to Jiyong. Because with the way he sees it, he was a right-out ass for ditching him so horribly all those years ago, and that at least deserves an apology.

Maybe if he apologises to Jiyong, talking to Kibum will be easier. Because right now the last thing he wants to do is _talk_. He wants to play videogames or hold his hand and eat cotton candy.

It’s confusing and kind of messing up his brain and all these years he’s repressed the urge to just _write out_ his emotions, but now it’s aching, right there under his skin, aching aching itching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so in love with this. Aish, I just… wauw. Japanese sex-talk man. 2000 won isn’t a lot. It’s just like 2euro.


	4. Information

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just some information about this story

Hello dear readers,

I am sure anyone who is reading in this fandom knows about the tragic passing of Jonghyun. I have been thinking about this a lot, as I too have lost close friends to suicide, and I myself, while struggling with depression, have been suicidal. It makes my body shiver even now just thinking of what could have led to such an action, how desperate the whole situation is, and I also feel now more than ever that the path I have chosen for myself is a good one.

However, I cannot bring myself to writing this story any further. I have been working on it for a very long time and it has gotten longer and longer and I've always come back to it, even during periods of writer's block. I haven't updated in ages because life got in the way, but I never stopped writing. Except for now. I cannot write him anymore, it feels like a disrespect to his person and his character and just thinking about writing him makes me feel uncomfortable. I want him to finally be in peace.

I'm sure there are people who may not understand that reasoning, but then I feel like I also don't need to explain myself.

I will continue updating this story with what I've written and finished so far, but I haven't actually written an end, and I will not write an end. I am just writing this here so new readers or future readers will be warned. I have not finished this and will never finish this. I will however update the chapters I have already completed.

I'm not even sure people will want to read fanfiction after such a tragic event, but while thinking it over I also realised it may be helpful and even therapeutic for some people. This is why I have made this decision.

 

Sorry for any spelling errors or weird expressions. Please take care of yourself, always, and if you are struggling, please reach out. I know what it feels like to think that no one will answer your call, and if you feel this way, you can always reach out to me. I know how scary it is to feel like you have to handle everything by yourself because no one cares for you or loves you, but trust me when I say, I do. I have been down and deep in depression and it almost took my life; if I could I would hold everyone struggling close to me, and whisper soothing things in your hair. You are not alone - please believe that.


	5. - you alight my soul

He asks around and ends up in a place he’s never been, confusing hallways and the smell of paint in the air. He knows Kibum is in there someplace because he’s been working on a traditional style of art these past weeks and he just _hopes_ Jiyong is there too – he wishes he could feel guilty, because is it his fault Jiyong’s vision shifted? Why isn’t the boy off with all the other writers? Did he take something that can now never be replaced?

There’s a classroom near the end of the hall with music coming from it, and when he peaks inside there’s only three people in it. Kibum is half-hidden behind an easel and an almost life-sized canvas, but Jiyong is laying on one of the desks with his head in the lap of a guy Jonghyun recognises immediately – despite the drastic changes in his body volume.

He has one second to appreciate the beautiful melody Kibum creates with his gaze focussed on his canvas and his wrist moving freely with his brush.

Then everybody seems to notice him all at once and Jiyong sits up straight rather abruptly and Kibum is coming up to kind of _shelter_ his easel as if Jonghyun is an arsenic fool.

Jonghyun thinks _to hell with rumours_ , because if he can believe that just one look from the blonde can force him undone at the seams, he can also believe in no fire with the smoke.

He rubs the heel of his hand into his eye and then looks at his shoes. The floor is really dirty, he notices.

“I was an asshat,” he decides eventually, and when his look lifts it meets Jiyong’s, “I can’t explain in a way that will seem even remotely rational and that’s kind of sick because you used to be the only person I could be rational with. I hate that I’m here right now because when I made that decision I was _so sure_ it was the right one and apparently it wasn’t,” he knows when Jiyong forgives him, because he does that thing where he bites his lip in doubt, a clear sign he’s about to forgive someone he maybe shouldn’t, “and I kind of missed you too, but after all maybe it worked out for the best because, _look at you_ ,” he indicates the general proximity of Jiyong and his boyfriend and he kind of smiles, upright because, “you’ve been horning on Seunghyun since second grade and all our fooling around was kind of getting in the way of that.”

Jiyong shrieks, appalled, and sprints over to Jonghyun to cover his mouth with both hands, eyes wide with distress.

“ _Asshole_ ,” Jiyong whines, “don’t _tell him_ that! Aish, you!” Jiyong kind of lamely slams his fists into Jonghyun’s chest, years of pent-up anger resounding in shallow hits with no real blow to them, “you could’ve just _told me that_ , but no, you had to go all _major loser_ and break the fuck up with _every kid in school,_ except for that stupid asshat _Donghae_ like man, you didn’t even make out behind sheds!” Jiyong sighs and frowns up at Jonghyun – and odd sentiment because these days, Jonghyun is getting used to having to be the one that looks up at people instead, “you guys didn’t even _write_ together, like…” he can’t say anything but a sad, “ _urgh_.”

It’s kind of very representative for _everything_ in his life right now. Every single thing except _one_.

Jonghyun gently tries to take Jiyong’s still-moving hands and his wrists are almost just as thin as they used to be.

“That was kind of the point,” he tries to explain in a way that will make sense, “when my dad found out you became kind of,” he sighs again, “a _big_ no-no because you kind of… represent everything I can’t be?”

He leaves off with half a question because he’s not too sure himself if it will be understandable or not. Jiyong groans.

“Your father found out? Why didn’t you tell me? What did he do? Are you okay?” he asks as if all of this has happened just four minutes ago instead of four years ago.

In fact he didn’t used to be okay, because his father had a temper and a hard belt-buckle. But now, yeah, he was fine. He was _happy_ , in this conflicted moment, he was _happy_.

“It’s _fine_ ,” he lies and knows Jiyong knows it, “it’s all rather… over now.”

“I don’t understand,” Jiyong leans into his body like he used to, like he wants a hug or comfort or a kiss. But it’s not romantic or sexual and not really platonic. He just leans into the body of a boy he used to hold dear, and then his eyes flit around the room, “Kibum is even more flamboyant and artsy! What did your father say when he found out about you dating?”

It’s endearing how apparently Kibum refers to them as _dating_ but also very alarming.

When he turns around to where Kibum used to be, the blonde has disappeared.

He hates that he’s so oblivious and hard-pressed to turn down desires that are obviously meant to be obeyed, all the _fucking_ time. He hates that he let his father bully him into silence and he hates that he ever thought giving up everything he had was _okay_.

He hates that it takes him ten minutes to reach Kibum’s building and he hates that he has to run up three stairs and he hates that he’s never even been there before and _are we dating?_

Kibum’s door is painted bright pink and there’s kanji, not hanja, for his name. He knocks and then the door falls out of the lock.

There’s a small kitchen slash dining room first, a broad open archway leading to a small bedroom with double futons laid out and a couch against the wall and then an opened bathroom door, from where Kibum calls: “who is it?”

Jonghyun doesn’t really know how to say that it’s just him, but it doesn’t matter because Kibum pops his head out to check for himself. His hair is messily tied into a tiny ponytail on the crown of his head and he’s holding a cotton ball to his eyes, apparently removing his kohl liner.

He steps out with a small frown when he sees it’s Jonghyun.

“You were right,” Kibum says, “I wouldn’t want you as my boyfriend.”

"It's not what you're thinking," it's very distracting how Kibum is already dressed down until his boy shorts in wait for his shower, it's hard to process something besides the rapid thumped-thumped of his heartbeat.

"Oh, you know what I'm thinking now?" Kibum raises both eyebrows, sceptical.

"Just tell me," Jonghyun begs, a little desperate and a whole lot insecure because _where do we go from here?_ "I can't... I'm no good with words so just _tell me_."

"No good with words, mister high-and-mighty lyrics king?” Kibum mocks, setting both hands on his hips, “Economist my ass,” he mutters and rolls his eyes, “So what, you can’t be _friends_ with artheads, you can only _screw_ them?”

It shouldn’t surprise him that apparently Jiyong had shared just about _everything_ there was to be shared about their history, with Kibum. It does surprise him that Kibum can sound so vicious and awed at the same time, just a little bit.

He’s not sure of anything coming out of his mouth but he lets it go anyway.

“So there’s a reason I’m a lyricist and not class-president, I’m good with _writing_ words but I suck at saying them which _you_ should know because when do I ever even _talk_? But you talk enough for the both of us and Japanese as well and it’s beautiful and I suck at this but,” he takes a really deep breath and feels like his heart will explode, “I don’t want us to stop. Because I don’t _screw_ artheads, I screw _you_ and you love it.”

Kibum isn’t nearly as phased as any other person would be. But then Kibum just isn’t like any other person.

“ _Gosh_ , you really are total _shite_ at talking,” Kibum rolls his eyes in a too-exaggerating way, “you have a _girlfriend_.”

“I know,” Jonghyun nods.

Kibum just stands there and looks at him for what feels like hours. He just _looks_ , in this very mundane way, not anything at all, just looking.

Then he says: “fair enough,” and next thing Jonghyun knows Kibum is all up in his space, pulling his t-shirt off over his head and sucking at his tongue.

It feels kind of different, except that it’s not. Not _really_. Kibum is undressing him with long fingers and tinkering bracelets and they kind of fall together again. The futons are soft under Jonghyun’s knees and he’s revelling because he’s in Kibum’s _bedroom_ and it feels like it makes the situation that much more intimate.

They kiss with their tongues playing and Jonghyun hooks Kibum’s naked legs over his own, forces him down softly and works down his body in teasing nips to bring down the red shorts over the slender legs.

They rush.

It creates a soul-crushing momentum.

He pulls Kibum’s hips into his lap, the boy’s legs falling apart easily as his hands dance above his head, grasping onto his pillow until his knuckles turn white. His legs hook around Jonghyun’s thighs tighter as Jonghyun pulls down his boxers just far enough.

“Irete ii?” Jonghyun asks, doesn’t really have the patience to wait for a reply. (“Can I enter?” I mean literally it means “can I put it in” but that sounds so…plain.)

Kibum brings both fists to his mouth in a little moment of utter _astonishment_ as Jonghyun pushes and prods and manages to wriggle the tip in. The tightness around the head is so hot it _hurts_ , and he is pretty sure Kibum hurts too, because he does this adorable thing where he puffs out “ _dai-jy_ ō _-bu_ ,” in an absolutely _not_ daijyōbu voice. (“I’m fine”)

He runs his hand over Kibum’s hip in a soothing manner, before grabbing it, kneading into the soft flesh. He eyes the swollen spot he aims to mark and then Kibum’s hands come down from his face and they grab around Jonghyun’s wrists – it’s not like he’s trying to stop him though, but a gentle, encouraging grip.

“Motto sawatte,” Kibum orders hoarsely, “ _onegai_.” (“Touch me more” “please”)

Jonghyun obeys with a steady push of his hips and it’s slick but griping and Kibum twitches violently around him, chokes on a sob and bites his lip until it bleeds.

“Shh,” Jonghyun moves a hand to flatten it into the blushing cheek as a fat tear falls from the felon eyes – Kibum’s fingers tighten around his wrist, following it on automatic, “yametehoshii?” (“Do you want to stop?”)

“I…iie,” Kibum squeezes his eyes shut and more tears fall – Jonghyun moves an inch and they both take a deep breath, “ _atsui,_ chyuu shitekure.” (“No” “it’s so _hot_ , kiss me”)

Jonghyun kisses him until his tongue goes numb.

It’s when they part that it happens. He feels this stinging in his heart at the idea that he’s putting Kibum through such torture and he _knows_ the remorse is showing on his face because he’s no good at keeping his expressions in check – but their lips separate and he pulls back slightly so he can look Kibum in the eyes and he has this _look_.

And as their eyes lock and Jonghyun’s heart swells their hips meet and Kibum’s breathe stills.

It’s probably the least attractive face to see at a moment like that because it is pure _pain_ , but Kibum links his fingers with Jonghyun’s hand on his hip properly and then gently moves his waist in a circular motion, taking in more and making them both gasp.

Jonghyun is sure. He is absolutely _smitten_.

Kibum cries but refuses to stop. He is constantly trying to urge Jonghyun into movement, canting his hips and curling his back. Jonghyun thinks he might start crying himself, because the sight is so heartbreaking – but he feels _too good_ , and wipes at his own gathering tears, sucks Kibum’s tongue into his mouth.

When he finally moves, the pink lip gets pulled in between his teeth again, and Jonghyun can’t stand to see that beautiful mouth so damaged.

He moves the digits that are stroking a soft cheek to the lips instead, and Kibum sucks the index finger in immediately. It’s okay even if, after hollowing his cheeks erotically, he bites down _hard_ when Jonghyun pulls out until the tip, because it feels like it’s only _fair_.

“Fair enough,” Kibum moans, like he can read his mind – and then everything goes blank because the next thrust is absolute _bliss_.

Kibum is quiet and heartbreaking but determined.

His bracelets dance and it’s the only thing Jonghyun hears, drowning out even the deliciously vulgar sounds of their skin meeting.

Kibum’s belly is twitching like crazy as his insides are being abused and when he’s coming his face has finally scrunched up into that _pleasurepainfuck_ as he’s brutally thrown into his orgasm with Jonghyun riding up hard into his spot, hands tightly entwined and on his hip.

Jonghyun comes immediately after, the sound of their thighs slapping reverberating as their waists connect completely and Kibum sobs in the aftermath. Kibum’s body shakes as Jonghyun releases inside of him, shivers violently as the blonde cries out at the feeling.

He doesn’t want to leave. He can feel Kibum’s heartbeat on every inch of his skin, encasing him and carrying him off. Kibum’s legs are crocked and keeping Jonghyun’s body tightly to his own. He begs for kisses, whimpering, “ _kocchi, chyuu”_ and pointing to his mouth, using the back of his hand – aching from holding onto Jonghyun’s for so long – to wipe at his snot-stained nose. (“Here, kiss”)

There’s droplets of sweat running down his face and dripping down onto Kibum’s pale chest as he leans in for a kiss – the blonde mewling and letting out a shaky sob before reaching up tiredly.

He sticks out his tongue and lets it wriggle out against Jonghyun’s, before pressing a series of little sucking kisses against Jonghyun’s top lip.

Jonghyun thinks he might’ve died and gone to heaven.

Kibum flops back down with a quivering breath and a soft sniffle. He looks for Jonghyun’s hands on his own body and links their fingers again, turning his head to the side to hide his next pathetic sob.

It’s pretty sad, these sounds he’s making now. Jonghyun brings the boy’s hands up over his head and presses them down, nuzzling into the marble neck as Kibum’s eyes fall shut. He noses into the thin arm and presses kisses to the soft armpit, the tender body shaking. Kibum’s tiny hole spasms around him at the same time his belly does, and whilst his frame is enjoying the press of Jonghyun’s lips, he pulls out carefully.

The spasming intensifies like Kibum doesn’t want to let him go, but when he leaves it makes this little _pop_ sound and the blonde mewls and then lets out a little amused snicker amongst a sob.

They kiss and kiss and _kiss_ and Jonghyun falls in love, he’s sure now.

With Kibum’s tearstricken face and salty kisses, he _knows_.

They end up spooning on one futon – except that they’re not really doing it correctly since Kibum is like 2 inches taller but here he is, cuddled tightly with his back against Jonghyun’s chest, his long, slender fingers playing with Jonghyun’s.

He holds their hands close to his chest and runs his tips over Jonghyun’s palm and into the tips at his knuckles, the cold metal of his bracelets sometimes sliding over Jonghyun’s wrist, sending goosebumps down his spine.

He watches Kibum as he watches their fingers. He should be worried – he’s in love. But he feels perfectly at ease.

He’s endeared at the blonde-pink-bluette’s intensive stare at their entwined digits, and in fear of turning into a total sap, presses his mouth, opened wide, into Kibum’s tender shoulder, munching playfully on the flesh.

Kibum makes this beautiful giggling sound and the feather ornaments of his bracelet clink together.

“ _Yamete—“_ his tears are long gone now, and he’s smiling, all-teeth-showing smiling. He says, “I can’t wait for you forever,” between soft kisses pressed to the tips of Jonghyun’s fingers, “if these were older time I’d build you a house with a googolplex rooms and,” he turns in Jonghyun’s strong embrace and looks at him through his lashes, long and languidly batting, “paint one in a different colour _everyday_ and say that the day I’ve finished is the day I’ll stop loving you but we’ve got to be modern about this.”

It’s not surprising that Kibum of all people would fear a lack of _modernity_ in any given situation. Jonghyun doesn’t really know how to say that all he needs is _time_ but he finds it’s not necessary, because Kibum is licking at the seam of his mouth and mewling like a cat for entrance.

When he falls asleep his heart feels at perfect ease, for the first time in a long time.


End file.
